


Falling Paws Over Heels

by wordsbymeganmichael



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Captain Hook, Enchanted Forest AU, F/M, Magic AU, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 22:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsbymeganmichael/pseuds/wordsbymeganmichael
Summary: Captain Killian Jones -- the notorious Captain Hook -- has heard all kinds of stories during his travels around all of the realms. But the story that has always interested him the most is that of the enchanting sorceress of Storybrooke, a small town in the Enchanted Forest's Misthaven, the sorceress who takes men to her bed, but will only give her heart to the man who befriends her cat. Will Killian be the one who finally has what it takes?





	Falling Paws Over Heels

Everyone knows a few things about Storybrooke. Everyone knows it’s a small town with more magic than anywhere in the world, the place where witches who want to learn more of their craft go to train. As much as they try to deny the rumors, everyone who has visited the small coastal town has witnessed a marvel they could not explain: time stopping, mysterious weather phenomenons, etc. 

Those who spend the most time here even claim, in the small hours of the night or when they are snooping in places they don’t belong, to have seen some of the witches and wizards turn into animals — though all the residents deny these rumors more adamantly than any of the others. 

But perhaps the best known rumor, the one whispered in dark nights spent in taverns up and down the coast, is about the presence of the beautiful sorceress, the strongest magic-wielder the world has ever seen, that lives on the outskirts of the small town in the coastal realm of Misthaven. The woman that charms all sorts of men, reels them in with her magic like a siren before having her way with them before breaking their hearts. Every man that has crossed her devastating path tells the same story:  _ to win her heart, you must first win the affection of her cat and bring her the key from her collar.  _ But the first step to winning the affection of the beautiful silver-blonde cat is  _ finding  _ her in the first place, since the cat and the woman never seem to be in the same place. 

Word got around quickly about this test, and men and women alike would come from all corners of the world to try to win the affection of the mysterious blonde sorceress — by winning the affection of her cat. 

Everyone would try all they could to catch the cat, given they could even find her in the first place, thinking this is the first step to befriending her; everything from offering her treats to trying to capture her in intricate traps. 

But she is too smart, too clever — too fast — and no one has ever succeeded in winning the heart of the sorceress. 

Killian Jones, the most villainous pirate to ever sail the seas, the notorious  _ Captain Hook _ , has heard enough of these stories, many shared with him over tankards of ale and flasks of rum served on old wooden tables in dark taverns. 

And he is  _ bored. _

This story, the mysterious,  _ beautiful _ blonde sorceress and her cat, has been on his mind since the first time he heard it from across the empty bar room, though now seems like the perfect time to try his luck to win the affections of this cat — and of the sorceress — for himself. 

How he has managed to avoid the beautiful scenery of Storybrooke is a mystery, one proven even more mysterious as he sails closer to the harbor and takes in the view: a large stone castle sitting on the top of a high, green hill, with rolling hills leading down to the water and bright forests surrounding it. 

Captain Jones has seen a lot of sights during his years as a sailor, first in the navy before his turn to piracy, and even Neverland had its moments in the years he spent there, but very few of them compare to Storybrooke. 

“What do you think, Captain?” a voice over his shoulder calls out, pulling him out of his own memories, and he turns to find Will Scarlett, both the youngest and newest member of his crew, standing behind him, watching as they approach the docks.

Because Captain Killian Jones is a different man towards his men than the hardened pirate that the stories make him out to be, the small smile spread across his features comes as no surprise to his crew. 

“ ‘s just as beautiful as you’ve made it sound, Scarlett,” Killian says, turning his eyes back towards the new view. The second half of his thought goes unsaid, though:  _ even more so if I can find the woman.  _

They picked the lad up in Wonderland, stranded on a beach in the corner farthest from the City of Hearts, wounded and terrified, but there was a light in his eyes, hidden beneath the depths of the pain on his face, that Killian recognized, that reminded him of his younger years, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave the poor boy where he was. 

(If he had known just how much he liked to talk, something that only escalated as soon as he was in the proximity of alcohol, he may have given it a second thought.) 

But after Wonderland, the  _ Jolly  _ had no plans, had no next course to which it had to be on its way to after Killian’s meeting with the King. So, when young Scarlett started telling stories of Storybrooke, stories of his home and this same sorceress that he had heard of countless times before, he decided. He was bored, and he needed an adventure that went beyond enacting someone else’s revenge, beyond running an errand for  _ this  _ royal or  _ that  _ monarch — and this sorceress seemed like the perfect plan. 

(Especially since, beyond bored, Killian Jones, captain of the  _ Jolly Roger _ , the world-renowned Captain Hook, is also lonely, missing his family and his first love and searching for something more meaningful than tavern wenches and quick fucks. If this sorceress somehow fills this void, Killian will be the last to complain.) 

Even more so once Will points her out to him. 

By some stroke of luck, whether it be the gods or the  _ goddess _ herself, she is walking by the docks as he leads his crew towards the town, wearing a simple white dress that flows perfectly behind her as if she controls the soft breeze that comes off the harbor — which she just might do, if all the stories about her are true. 

Even if they aren’t, he’s fairly sure that she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, with soft golden curls that almost seem to radiate light, and her features only become more strikingly perfect as he approaches her. 

She is walking slowly between the merchants set up in the marketplace, turning her attention between the stands on either side of her, a light wicker basket slung over one arm while she holds a shining red apple to her nose with the opposite hand before a bright, warm smile spreads across her face. 

Killian really doesn’t mean to run into her. She takes a step to one side to avoid running into the person in front of her, and he is too enamored by her to move quickly enough out of her way to pass her, as he meant to do. But, instead, he runs right into her, catching her arm with his hand as they collide. 

He has his apology in his throat, his hook caught on the handle of her basket, but as soon as his eyes meet hers, he can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks, and he loses all ability to speak. 

Captain Hook, the most fearsome, most sinister— and, perhaps most importantly, most handsome — pirate to ever sail the seas, finds himself tongue-tied by a pair of bright green eyes, shining so perfectly in the sunlight that he swears they may be cut from an unblemished piece of emerald. 

“My apologies, sir,” she says, her voice like music to his ears, the sound of it causing his heart to beat wildly in his chest, though perhaps that is her mere presence. “I don’t believe that I’ve seen you around here before, have I?” 

Thankfully, he swallows the lump that has formed in his throat, fighting back the urge to scratch the spot behind his ear that his hand finds when he’s nervous, and flashes her his best smile. 

“No, love, you haven’t,” he drawls, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible — though if the smile on her face is as knowing as he has a feeling it might be, it may have been all for naught. “We just docked in the harbor earlier today.” 

“And what brings you to Storybrooke?” 

“A man hears so many stories when he spends as much time travelling as I do,” he says softly, only now realizing that his hand his still wrapped around her forearm, and he loosens his grip, not releasing her completely — though she could very easily remove herself from his grasp if that was what she desires. “He can only hear the same stories so many times before he has to come investigate on his own.” 

A knowing flash crosses her face, almost too quickly for him to notice before it disappears. “What sorts of stories?” 

Either he has gone completely mad, or she is flirting with him, swaying further into his space in the middle of the busy market as she looks up at him through her eyelashes. 

_ What harm can come from playing along?  _ he asks himself, slowly moving his hand further up her arm until he reaches her bicep, taking the smallest of steps towards her. 

“Oh, you know,” he says, trying to stay as nonchalant as possible, though he fears the wild pounding of his heart in his chest will give him away. “Witches, magic. Women who use their charms to lure innocent men to their beds.” 

This time, her knowing smile is paired with a sinister glint in her eye, and she presses her hand against his chest, leaning even closer to him, close enough that he believes for a moment that she is about to press her lips against his. 

She does not; instead, she whispers, “I have found there is no such thing as an innocent man, Captain Jones,” before quickly moving out of his grasp and away from him, disappearing through the crowd of people. 

By the time his mind catches up with what she has just said, he quickly turns on his heel to try to find her in the crowd, but she is gone. 

  
  


Four days pass without Killian so much as seeing her — though not for his lack of trying. He spends his free time in the taverns, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, or overhear one of the many stories he is sure Storybrooke residents have to share, but he fails on both counts. 

During the busiest times of day, he finds a seat on one of the benches along the marketplace, slowly working his way through the small piles of fruit, nuts, and dried meats that he purchases from various vendors, hoping that she will come back to the place they met, but she does not. 

He does, however, see many things that he knows he would not find in other towns: firedancers, who can not only control their flames, but who can conjure them in the palm of their hand; piles of fruit enchanted to never go bad (though, when he acquires, the farmers simply insist it is due to the soil in Storybrooke, which is unlike any other soil in the world); “magic” pendants that hold promises to keep a loved one safe, to cure a disease, to ensure good business. While he has seen some trinkets like these during his journeys, there is something about these in particular, something about the air in Storybrooke and the  _ very real  _ way that people believe these promises here when he knows they would just be a hoax in other towns, that makes him want to believe in the magic, as well. 

Young Will Scarlett certainly does, his stories of home filled with fairies and wood nymphs and forests that grant wishes — and a powerful sorceress and her cat. 

At first, Killian thinks nothing of the growing number of cats that he begins to see around the _Jolly _while it is still docked, beyond the regular three that he has kept on board. Everyone knows that ships are the perfect breeding ground for mice, which, of course, includes the cats themselves. He makes sure to tell the cook to leave out some snacks so that they don’t have to hunt as much and some fresh milk, make sure that they know they are welcomed on his ship. But it is the one that keeps finding its way into his private cabin that catches his attention the most, with a silver-blonde coat and bright green eyes, eyes that seem to follow him through the room from the corner where she — Killian has a gut feeling it is a female, though he finds himself unable to explain it when his first mate asks — always seems to be sitting. 

Killian has a lot of experience with cats, perhaps more than any of the other members of the crew. He assumes that he is the only one with the exact experience he has, the only one who spent his childhood checking the ship cats for fleas, making sure they had enough food and were healthy, and has always been around them, since he has always been on ships. And he knows how to befriend the cats, a lesson that he learned the hard way more times than he can count, and though most of the scars from the scratches have since healed, the memory of them has not — especially since it took most of his adolescent years to get over his fear of the felines. 

But this one — the one who either sits in the corner and grooms herself as she watches his every move or is nowhere to be found — is  _ different  _ somehow. He’s known cats to be attentive, to be watching him sometimes, to turn their attention towards him when he moves, but this is the first cat he has ever known that just…  _ watches  _ him. Every time he looks up from his desk, her bright green eyes are focused on him. 

It takes three days for him to speak to her the first time, when he finds himself struggling with some of the numbers from the ship’s books. This is one of the many times that he’s cursed himself for choosing to be his own accountant instead of hiring someone to do it, as many other captains choose to do. 

He’s never been like other captains. 

But that hasn’t stopped him from all the hard work that comes from keeping his own books. 

“Bloody hell, why can’t I figure this out?” he mumbles, then lifts his flask to his lips. His rum is warm, almost too sweet after spending the day in the pocket of his duster, but it’s the only option he has to still the pain from the voices in his head — and hopefully straighten them out enough to help with his arithmetic. 

That’s when she mews from across the room, the sound does not immediately register. It’s a sound he has not heard for a very long time, that of a cat that wants attention, that  _ has something to say _ , since most ship cats just learn to mind their own business, catch rodents, and sleep on the warm wooden deck. 

“Do you have an idea?” he asks, half-joking, but is amazed when she saunders across the room and carefully perches herself atop his desk, minding the placement of her paws so as to not step near the bottles of ink or liquor sprawled across the surface. She takes a moment, almost as if she were looking over the numbers in the book, before setting her small paw atop one of the columns and meowing again, then jumps back to the floor. 

Amazed, Killian focuses his attention on that column in particular, and it only takes him a few moments to find the mistake that had eluded him, and once he fixes it, all of the issues he’s been having are fixed, as well. He turns his eyes back to the room, hoping to find the cat to thank her, but she is not in her usual corner; instead, she is nowhere to be found. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles under his breath anyway. 

  
  


He sees her again the next morning. The blonde, not the cat. He is in the tavern, minding his own business in the corner while his crew are enjoying some time with the locals. He almost doesn’t see her walk in, besides the fact that her presence seems to pull his attention away from the pages in front of him. She’s dressed much differently than the first time he saw her, in a simple dark red dress with a striped skirt, leaving none of her curves to the imagination. He pulls himself back together at the same moment she turns to face him, snapping his jaw shut. 

“Can I ask you a question, Captain?” she asks, sliding onto the bench beside him, straddling the bench so she is facing him. 

“Yes, darling?” he hums, watching, eyes wide, as she takes the bottle of rum in front of him, pouring some into the glass, and downing it all in one quick gulp. 

“Tell me,” she breathes, leaning closer to him as she reaches out to wrap her slender fingers around the curve of the appendage. “How you got the hook. You hear so many stories.” 

He smiles, his breath hitched in his throat, along with his heart. “It seems,” he starts, inching slightly closer to her on the bench, “As if you know who I am, while I have still yet to learn your name.” 

The smile spread across her face grows, and she moves another inch towards him, her knee almost pressed against the outside of his leg. “Emma Swan,” she says, her voice as melodic as a soft spring breeze whispering through the trees. 

“Miss Swan,” he says, reaching across his body to take her hand in his, pulling it up to his lips to press a soft kiss against her knuckles. “The pleasure is all mine.” 

She hums, taking another quick drink from the bottle. “I sure hope that’s not the case, Captain Jones.” 

He’s honestly not sure how it happens: one moment, he is sharing a bottle of rum with her in the tavern, telling her of the demon that stole his hand and his love from him, the man who he defeated in order to escape from Neverland; and the next moment, he has her pressed against the cool brick of the side of the building, sliding his lips over hers. He does not realize that they have even left the table until he grinds against her, covering as much of her body with his as he can. 

“What do you want, Captain?” she asks, trying to cover the groan that rises to her throat when he presses his lips against the curve of her throat. 

_ Killian, _ he wants to tell her, wants to beg her to be the first person to use his  _ real  _ name since he lost Milah, but it’s almost as if his lips can do nothing but kiss her, nothing but suck gently on her pulse point as his hand wraps around the swell of her breast, mostly covered by her dress. Instead, he manages, “Anything the lady desires,” brushing the soft skin of the exposed tops of her breasts with the short stubble that covers his skin before retracing the path with his lips. 

They are not the last words shared that night, but somewhere between the exterior wall of the tavern and his cabin on the  _ Jolly Roger _ , she turns the lead over to him, and he leads her to the sweet release she desires twice before finding his own within her. Sweat-covered and sated, they fall asleep as a tangled pile of limbs, his body curled almost possessively around hers as the ship sways softly on the waters of the harbor. 

When he awakes the next morning, he is alone in his bed. The first thing he feels is  _ cold _ , a feeling he has not noticed for years — cold and alone. 

And then he hears it, a soft, almost silent  _ meow _ from across the room. The cat is sitting in her corner, as if she is waiting for him to wake. As soon as he meets her gaze, though, she turns away from him and disappears through whatever hole between his cabin and the hall she has been using. He’s thought multiple times over the last few days of looking into her secret passageways, of figuring out how she’s been getting in and out, but he’s realized since that, ridding the ship of these passageways would also mean ridding the cat of her access to his room. 

“Swan,” he whispers, almost groans, still calling her by her surname, as he drops his head back to the pillows, though he can almost swear that he hears the cat respond with another soft  _ meow  _ before he falls back asleep. 

  
  


“Scarlett!” he calls out to his crew from his position at the helm, unable to find the lad among the men currently helping with repairs on the main deck. He has a few questions for him, wants to know more about this challenge and exactly what he needs to do with this cat in order to win the heart of the blonde — to win the heart of Emma Swan. She has been at the forefront of his mind since the night they spent together, and on his mind for much longer than that, but in the two weeks since he woke alone in his bed, every meeting between them has been public: shared meals at the tavern, meetings in the marketplace. 

Though, perhaps on his mind more than the sorceress herself, is the cat who he has started to see around his ship even more than before. It wasn’t until the morning cat was there and she was not that he began to believe that this cat, the one whose fur is the equivalent of her blonde curls, who somehow has the same perfect emerald eyes as she does, is  _ the  _ cat, the one he must befriend in order to prove himself worthy of her. 

But he knows there is something else, knows that there is a second part of this tale that he has somehow forgotten about while becoming enamored by her. 

He has the lad’s name on the tip of his tongue, ready to call out to him again, when he hears the creak of the metal grate that leads down to the main cabins, and Scarlett’s head comes peeking out from below. 

“Yes, Captain Jones?” he asks, already pulling himself up from belowdecks, so Killian simply waves for him to join him on the top deck. 

“Tell me again about the cat,” he says once Will is standing beside him, and the confusion that paints his face shows Killian that this is the absolute last thing Scarlett expected him to ask. 

“The sorceress’ cat?” he asks, trying to make sure that he has understood his captain’s question, and Killian nods. 

“Aye.” 

“She, uh, carries a key around her neck, on her collar. The sorceress herself wears a matching one on a necklace, so she would know if you tried to make a fake instead of using the real one. You have to get the key off the collar and take it to the sorceress.” 

Killian nods again, his eyes set far beyond the horizon, and he must focus on the rise and fall of the waves to not allow himself to be overtaken by memories of the night they spent together. “The key,” he says after a moment, and though it is not a question, Will still nods. “Thank you, Scarlett. You may return to whatever you were doing.” 

But Will doesn’t move away from him, silent beside him for a few moments. Killian is about ready to question him when he finally speaks:

“You’ve seen her, haven’t you?” 

“You know I’ve met the sorceress, Scarlett, you were there for many of those times.” 

“Not the sorceress, sir. The cat.” 

Killian hasn’t told any of his crew about the new regular guest he has in his cabin, though he has had a few conversations about the cats’ presence on the ship. He’s not sure whether he wants to tell Scarlett about her, but something in his eyes makes Killian suddenly want to tell him all of it. 

So, he nods. “Yes. I have — I’ve seen her around, the silver cat with the key around her neck. She’s, uh, been in my cabin a few times.” 

A huge grin breaks out across his face. “Captain! Her cat only comes around for men that she likes. If she’s been spending time in your cabin, that means that she probably wants to see more of you.” 

He knows that Will probably means the nights they spend together in the tavern, when they find one another in the marketplace, but his mind immediately moves to the night they spent together in his cabin, and how much he  _ wishes  _ he could be with her again. 

When he says nothing else, Will just nods, quickly saluting his captain —  _ how he wishes his men would not do that, though he could never being himself to ask —  _ and he’s gone. 

He’s seen the key. Not to the point where he has really taken a good look at it, but he’s seen it, noticed it just two nights before when the cat was curled on the corner of his desk. It’s not very large, maybe an inch total, and fairly thick. He wonders what it opens, and if that holds the secret to winning the hand of the woman he has been so taken by recently. The cat  _ almost  _ let him pet her that night in particular, rubbed up against his legs while he was sitting at his desk before she disappeared into the woodwork once more. That has to be a sign. 

And, as much as he wants to win Emma’s heart, wants to ability to get to know her better, to spend more nights with her, he is nothing if not patient — two hundred years in Neverland taught him that. If patience is what the cat needs, is what  _ Emma  _ needs, then he shall give it. 

She finds him at the tavern again that night, in a simple white dress with a tan corset, and there is something in her eyes that he did not notice before, a look that he has seen almost too many times in his extended lifetime, and a look that he would probably recognize anywhere: a need for adventure. He has seen in each of his crew members, in the Lost Boys of Neverland once they realized they did not have to be stuck on that godforsaken island — and he remembers seeing it in the eyes of his brother one too many times, wishing that he would not have sought that last adventure, the one that separated them for good. 

“Tell me stories of the sea,” she says, almost pleading with him, as she sits across the table from him. He misses the first time they met here, when she got as close to him as she could, but he likes this just as much — spending time with her, getting to know her, learning what she wants out of life. 

“What of the sea do you desire to know? I’ve spent my whole life on it, could spend every breath I have telling you of its marvels and its wonders, and still would not have scratched the surface.” 

But this does not lessen her excitement. “Tell me what it is like to be out there, to know that you could go anywhere, do anything, without rules or anything tying you down.” 

This is not quite the answer he expected, and it almost catches him off-guard, though only for a moment. “Why, Miss Swan,” he answers, leaning back on the bench as he crosses his arms over his chest. “To me, that sounds like you’re interested in a life of piracy. The sea is not what rids life of rules, I can assure you that as a man who did his due diligence in the Royal Navy.”

She presses her lips into a thin line, leaning closer to him with her arms on the table. “Perhaps,” is all she says. 

Killian smiles. “Forgive me for asking, but why can’t a powerful sorceress like you have the life you desire? Can’t you go anywhere you want, live out your dreams?” 

She is silent for a moment, her eyes cast down on the table between them. Killian is afraid that he has said something out of line, has insulted her, but when she turns her eyes back up to his, they have not lost their brightness. “You are the first man I have ever met who does not fear me,” she says, her voice soft, but her eyes do not leave his. “I have all the magic in all the realms at my fingertips, can control the wind and the waves and bend them to my will, but every time I have asked for the opportunity to experience the sea for myself, the captain has laughed in my face. I’ve been called every form of  _ bad luck _ the imaginations of sailors can conjure, and have yet to find someone brave enough to allow a woman that could just as easily save them as she could destroy them on their ship. People come from all around to try to win my heart, but they have to see me beyond just a prize to be won to be worthy of it in the first place.” She stops for just as long as it takes him to take a complete breath. “Now, if you will, Captain Jones, I would like to hear your best story of the sea.” 

For the first time in his life, he recalls the story of his brother’s first day as Captain, the proudest he has ever been in his life. The sea was calm, perfect, as if welcoming Liam into his new position, and they sailed into the kingdom of Arendelle just in time to watch a storm brew over the water. It was still, to this day, almost three hundred years later, both one of the most beautiful and terrifying sights he has ever seen. 

After he finishes his story, Emma thanks him, leaving him alone with his own mind even after he pleads with her to stay. “I think you know what you have to do, Captain Jones,” he says, as cryptic as ever, before turning away from him and leaving the tavern without another word. 

He thinks about what she said to him for the rest of the night as he finishes the bottle of rum by himself, as he makes his way back to his ship, and as he drifts off to sleep. He dreams of her, both of taking his time and pleasuring her every way he knows how, and of sailing away from Storybrooke with her by his side, of taking her on adventures and showing her the most beautiful parts of all of the realms, just as she deserves someone to. 

And, as he wakes with a jolt to a loud crack of thunder and a bright flash of lightning out the windows of his cabin, he realizes what the last thing she said was supposed to mean. 

_ The cat.  _

He's awake in an instant, his eyes frantically searching the dark corners of his cabin for her bright green eyes. When all he finds are shadows, none of them cast by a slender silver-blonde cat. 

For what feels like the first time in his life, the rocking of the waves in the brewing storm does not lull him to sleep; instead, every movement of the ship, every moving shadow from the flashes of lightning outside his cabin, draw him back to consciousness, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. 

When sleep does finally pull him back, his dreams are much weirder, of townspeople transforming into animals, of dark forests and magic, and this time, when he wakes, he is glad the dream has ended. 

  
  


He does not see the cat until later that afternoon, but he really does not blame her — the rain is unwavering, falling from the sky in sheets that seem to seep into the deepest parts of you. By the time he does see her, the sun has started peeking through the dissipating clouds, and though the ground is riddled with deep puddles, the rain itself seems to be done. He does not notice her in his cabin at first, too focused on pulling his soaked shirt over his head, and he hangs it from the hook inside his door before he senses another presence in the room. Searching her normal places first, the corner and her spot on his desk, he finds them empty, but when he begins to search the rest of the room, he notices that she is somewhere he did not expect: lounging atop the neatly-folded pile of blankets at the foot of his bed. 

"Well, hello there, sweet girl," he purrs, moving to sit on the bed beside her, though he does not immediately reach out to pet her. 

She mews at him, soft and sweet, and he can't help but smile at her. Slowly, he reaches out his hand towards her, but lets her move into the last of the space that he leaves for her. 

She does, leaning her head forward until he can feel the silver fur between her ears against his fingers. It is soft, almost impossibly so — much softer than he remembers the matted fur of the ship cats of his childhood. He trails his fingers down her back, though her fur never loses its softness. Beneath his hand, she begins to purr, the vibration humming through him, and he carefully adjusts his position on the bed, moving closer to the back wall to hold him up. 

"You're such a pretty girl," he whispers, scratching behind her ears, and she turns her bright eyes up towards him. 

That’s when he notices it: the small brass key hanging from her black velvet collar around her neck, almost completely lost in the thick fur around it. He doesn’t reach for it right away, not wanting to startle her away with his quick movements, so instead, he slowly works his fingers through the fur around her head. Scratching behind her ears, around her neck, and down onto her chin, before carefully taking the small key between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Can I have this, love?” he asks, then realizes that he has started holding his breath, waiting for her answer. 

Softly, she chirps at him, rubbing her chin against his fingers, which are still grasping the key, before she begins purring. 

_ Well, _ he thinks,  _ that’s an answer if there ever was one.  _

Even more so when he tugs gently at the to slide it away from her neck, and she turns her eyes towards him again. He can almost  _ swear _ that she is smiling at him — which he  _ knows  _ is bloody impossible, he  _ knows,  _ but he also knows what he just saw, and he would swear all the treasures in all the world that she — 

_ Bloody hell.  _

If he thought the silver cat smiling at him was impossible, it’s nothing compared to the shock that paralyzes him where he is sitting as that very same cat changes in a small cloud of smoke. 

_ Changes,  _ in a small cloud of light grey smoke, into a woman 

No. Not just into any woman. Into  _ her _ . 

Into Emma Swan, sitting beside him on the bed in his cabin, wearing the same flowing white dress that she had on when they met for the first time. 

“Emma,” he breathes, her name almost a question on his lips. 

The brilliant smile that lights up her features makes him question even more if this is real, or if he has somehow fallen asleep while petting the cat. “Hello, Killian.” 

The warmth of her hand against his knee doesn’t quite answer his question, but when she reaches across him to press her other hand against his cheek, pulling her lips to meet his, he has never wished to  _ not  _ be dreaming so much in his life, especially as the echo of his name — his  _ real  _ name — rings in his ears. 

It takes him a moment to regain his composure after she backs away from him, but once he is able to breathe again, he is completely unable to stop the smile that spreads across his face. “That was, uh, not quite what I was expecting, love.” 

Emma laughs, a soft, twinkling sound that Killian feels all the way down to the center of his soul. “Believe it or not,” she says, lowering her eyes to where her hand is still resting on his knee for just a moment. “It’s a little frowned upon to go around telling people that Storybrooke is full of therianthropic magic-wielders.”

“Or that the cat you tell people they have to befriend is actually just you,” he jokes, resting his hand on top of hers. 

Pulling her lip up between her teeth, she shakes her head, threading her fingers through his. “Yes, of course,” she mumbles, “That, too.” 

“So, it’s been you the whole time?” 

“What do you mean, Killian?” she asks, but the smile that she fails to hide tells him that she knows  _ exactly  _ what he means. 

“All those nights you spent here, lounging on my desk, curled up on my bed while I worked — all while we could have been having much more fun than that.” He waggles his eyebrows, inching closer to her on the bed, though she does not let him finish, pushing him back into the mattress so she can cover his body with her own. 

“Well,” she mumbles, her lips never quite leaving his. “I suppose we have to make up for a few of those.” 

She pulls his lip between her teeth, laughing softly as he wraps his arms around her. The kiss they share is unlike any other he has experienced, a kiss that not only promises making up for lost time, but also more than that — promises something Killian ever thought he would have again: a future. 


End file.
